After The Gun
by MadameMorganLeFay
Summary: Justin, intent on revenge, had gone after old tormentor Chris Hobbs... with a gun. And Brian was sick with fear. Canon AU for 4x05. One-Shot.


**AFTER THE GUN**

* * *

><p>Was he dead?<p>

Were swarms of cops converging onto a scrap of chilly grey sidewalk like bees, sealing it off with that awful striped tape? Did a chilly morgue now house his lifeless, bloody corpse? Had the body been identified by a grieving family member? In a few minutes, would there be an ominous knocking at his door, a grave faced uniform gently asking him to sit down…?

Brian shook his head vigorously. Standing up from his couch, he dragged himself to the kitchen and poured himself a generous helping of wine. His imagination had been running like the wind all afternoon ever since Daphne had told him Justin was off chasing his old tormentor, Chris Hobbs- with a… a _gun_… The worst thing was that he'd spent hours over a cigarette at Babylon, trying to see Justin's point of view, and now, he felt as though someone had kicked him in the stomach. No amount of desperate internal preparation could have softened the blow in any way.

And why? Because deep down, he knew there was little sincerity in his defence of the Posse's aims, however glamorous they sounded- yes, even he, with his famed dislike of heteronormativity could not stomach the thought of baiting others to prove a point- one that was dangerously convoluted and lacking in reality.

Still, he'd just turned away awkwardly, pretending to agree with this frightening development- much to Daphne's understandable frustration. Yet what was he to do? Had he not tried to warn Justin about the dangers of toting guns? Where had that gotten him? Further away than he wanted to be. Justin no longer felt the need to explain why he came back so late, let alone where he had been all night. And Brian's own stubbornness in refusing to betray his concern stopped him from probing for answers- instead, he began to settle into this discomfiting routine as though it was simply part of his day.

But then the aching for older days began- something he never would have expected from himself. At first it was selfish things like wanting to fuck earlier in the night rather than wait up smoking in bed… Which turned to more hapless, sentimental desires: wanting Justin to lighten up, instead of being so self-righteous, wanting their constant arguments to stop… wanting Justin to _smile_ again in that disarming way that melted through his barriers and forced him to submit to human emotion.

And still, he did nothing but stand and watch.

There was only so much he could invest in trying to keep Justin safe, whether through discreet action or otherwise. But he wasn't dealing with a young man anymore; he was shouting at a brick wall, trying to manipulate a puppet on a string. A puppet who refused to see any point of view other than the Posse's creed of unapologetic vengeance as a means to an end.

It was such a psychological transformation that had reinvented Sunshine as an idealistic vigilante out in the thick of the night, battling evil personified.

And he was most probably dead.

Brian shuddered, tipping the contents of his glass down his throat until it constricted painfully and his eyes stung. He'd called Justin's cell-phone several times: no response. Left two further messages: no response. Driven around the neighbourhood after work hoping to find him- was unsuccessful. Calling the cops seemed like the next viable option before he remembered that there were precious little details to give- quite apart from the fact that he would actually be getting Justin into even more trouble. Every possible window was barred shut, leaving him locked inside an airtight compartment, running out of ideas.

That said, none of his growing despair would ever show in his face- indeed, he appeared much calmer with each passing hour.

Inside, raw panic built inside him like a freak wave at sea.

A strong part of him was going to _murder_ Justin himself for embroiling himself in a fight that had nearly taken his life the first time. Those raw, cold images of Hobbs stalking Justin with a baseball bat, him running back, shouting after the inevitable victim would never be erased from his mind. Not because of the attack, or even the rivers of blood, or how still Justin's broken body was… No, it was the hauntingly quiet words whispered in his ears even as he tried to prevent the unstoppable: _"Too late… it's too late…"_ That cloud of guilt was still hanging over him from the time he'd sat disconsolately in that chilling, whitewashed hospital ward to the present. Helplessness- and the weight of a life on his shoulders that forced him to mature, had instigated an instinctive protectiveness within him since that fateful night.

It was, to be more precise, the insistent feeling that he could _never_ allow such a tragedy to happen again. The question was, had he failed now?

He wrenched himself away from the wine bottle and stumbled back into the living room area. Slumped on the nearest couch, he flicked on his television, hoping to find something mindless and hypnotic to lull his aching senses. Channel after channel sailed past his eyes, each offering the same manufactured product for restless, vacuous minds: _"RealCrime… Serial Killers of the 80's… Accident Helpline… Unsolved Murders…" _Sitting up straight, he turned the box off, chucked the channel changer onto his coffee table. Did they show nothing but gruesome documentaries after nine? Or was it a deliberate effort to spite him, taunt him?

Weary eyes rolled from side to side, searching for other entertainment; alcohol, television, moping around, reliving the past… none of them had helped alleviate his chilling fears one bit.

There was nothing for it but to lie down somewhere and hope sleep would quickly overtake him.

hr /

Few things shocked Brian more the mundane act of a door being opened.

Usually, any hint of a surprise was well concealed to the extent that anyone speaking to him went away in the belief that nothing could move him. They would have been wrong, but it was a brilliant act.

This time, it didn't occur to him to pretend he had been expecting his door to be pulled back out of the blue. He sat up immediately, disbelieving eyes travelling over his night-time visitor, recalling and savouring every single detail and feature.

Because it wasn't the police, paramedics or a counsellor.

Justin strolled in, still in his bomber jacket. Alive. Living and breathing, not shot and bloodied. Not being cooled inside a morgue, or being analysed by doctors… not a name engraved onto a headstone. _Really_ alive… he'd come back home in perfect condition, and Brian was seriously tempted to yield to a pathetic, sentimental act like... hug him- just for not dying.

And because he badly wanted to touch his lover, his eyes turned to stone, glowering at their target- if only for the fact that Justin offered no explanation for his surprise entrance other than staring at the ground, engrossed in something infinitely beyond the naked eye.

"You're back." His voice sounded alien to him- brittle and empty. An illustration of the internal turmoil that had him restless and jittery since that afternoon.

"Oh- hey Brian," came the distant reply.

"_Oh- hey Brian."_ Was that _it_? Silence settled in again soon afterwards, during which time Brian studied his boyfriend's absent-minded movements, the intensity in his eyes. Sure, he was back- but not really. Something remarkable, poignant must have happened to keep one so talkative on any other day, reflective and sombre.

"So… Did you shoot Chris Hobbs?"

Their eyes met briefly, before Justin looked away.

"No."

Brian swung his legs off his couch, rose to intercept Justin's inevitable path towards the bedroom. He _had_ to squeeze at least some truth before the rest was buried by a pillow and sheets. What had happened that kept him fretting late at night when all good people were in the land of dreams?

"Did your fellow Avenger…?"

"No."

"Did Chris Hobbs…?"

"No, Brian."

"You know, the cops collect fingerprints, which could connect you to-"

"I didn't kill anybody, Brian!"

"Good to hear," he reasoned carefully, reaching out to scrape his fingers along Justin's sleeve. "How about arrests? Charges? Fines? Cells? Subpoena's? Prison sentences?"

"None of that."

"What happened to Hobbs?"

"He won't bother me again."

Something in Justin's tone of voice suggested that there had been an unexpected change in their dynamic that seemed to give him the upper hand. A year or two ago, this would have been unthinkable, with Hobb's name enough to drive Justin to cruel nightmares that ended in screams and floods of tears. So… why? What had happened, asides from death that would keep a tormentor in his place? The mere fact that Justin was unwilling to donate any information did precious little to improve Brian's mood.

"Good to hear," he agreed tightly. "So… when do the guerrilla fighters next meet to plan revenge on the entire heterosexual population?"

"They won't."

Brian's heart skipped a beat. _"They won't"_ didn't seem to fully register as two separate words- they were more of a faint, muffled sound compared to the roaring in his ears. After a few terse moments, all he could come up with in response was a shaky:

"What?"

"I… I quit the Posse. It just wasn't… me. I can't be violent, vengeful no matter what someone has done to me… or someone I care for. So I just left."

Brian needed a moment to digest this news- so many thoughts were whirling around in his head like unconnected threads that needed to be joined together conclusively. Justin quit. He wasn't going to be in any more danger. Justin... fucking quit that misguided, counter-productive brood of wannabe vigilantes.

"Ah. So what happened to the gun?"

"Chucked it. Cody's probably took it back."

"Probably for the best, huh?"

"Yeah. You were right."

"I usually am." But his fingers stroked Justin's neck lightly. "Well… the good news is that your hair will grow back…"

His light-hearted assessment was rewarded with a small smile, which he returned unwillingly, betraying a fragment of his true feelings through the subtle movement.

"…And that pink vest you wore in my presence will somehow find its way to the trash."

"Hey!" Justin protested feebly, laughing quietly. "It wasn't _that_ bad… Not everyone can afford Armani, you know."

"Hopefully, we can now fuck without you trying to beat me senseless. Which you could barely do, by the way."

"Not the way I remember it-but I'll let that pass."

"And Rage will stop telling his enemies to suck their own cocks!"

"Yeah," Justin laughed again, "Michael wasn't very happy with those covers either- although he said Ben thought they were passionate and artistic."

"Well, the Professor thinks he's fucking _Socrates,_ so of course he found something deep and boring to say."

"The next issue will be tamer- I got some new ideas to discuss with Michael."

Brian watched that incandescent light bulb being switched back on deep inside Justin's eyes. It was a resurrection of the mind, a restoration of emotion… couldn't help reluctantly noting the animated smile decorating his lover's lips. And it was just that guileless, idealistic smile that infuriated him even more- the fact that Justin could suddenly transform into a glowing light bulb whilst he, Brian, was a nervous wreck.

"Oh?"

"There's this new villain in Gayopolis called Gat Boy who wants J.T to take revenge on all the homo-haters in town, and-"

Brian shook his head, tuning out already. The "Rage" series was not known for its original ideas.

"Right, I see where this is going," he interrupted. So no sooner than this whole episode crashed and burned, it became trivial enough to become good material for a comic book?! "Well, I'm glad to see something came out of this little misadventure..."

"Daphne was livid with me," Justin mused, heavy guilt clouding his tone. "She was scared I was going to get killed."

"Understandable."

"You… Were you worried about me? Like tonight, I mean. You sounded pretty panicked in your phone messages."

He turned his head away casually, but inside, he was quietly fuming. So Justin HAD listened to his messages, but apparently didn't have the common decency to call back, let him know he was alright! Wasn't this the same guy who loved to insist they were in some kind relationship? Why was it that the rules never seemed to apply to him? Never mind the whole point of having a phone was to answer calls!

"Who said I was worried- or panicked? In fact," he continued, walking away to fetch a cigarette as an outlet for his brewing discontent, "I knew you would change your mind and leave the Posse; it was only a matter of time."

"Oh. I just thought that-"

"Please, panic is when I can't find a tie to match my shirt, not when some kid starts believing in stupid shit."

"I see. Sad thing is, if it was _you_ putting yourself in danger, I'd be scared out of my mind- but I guess you don't feel that way."

That was the precise moment where Brian wilted- not for weakness, but in response to his pent-up frustration that now wanted to burst free like a dam. For the fact that he had stayed up late, wondering and imagining and frightening himself with all kinds of horrible scenario's on account of Justin's self-righteous war in the name of self-protection. For just coming home casually and not even giving him the whole story. For… assuming that because he _said_ he wasn't worried, that he was just being Brian Kinney, the heartless shit.

"Hey, listen up; you don't know what I feel! And don't try and spin this around when this is all _your_ fault! I warned you about what would happen if you went flaunting your play toy around the neighbourhood. If you hadn't used your own brain for once instead of Cody's, you could have been killed!" Now he was walking back up to Justin, feeling his blood begin to boil and evaporate- and with it, the very last scrap of patience he had been clinging to, favouring quiet over rage.

"Just what the fuck did you think you were doing?!" he continued, watching Justin coil back, wincing at every word. "You think because _Cody_ put fancy words in your head, you got a free pass to do whatever the fuck you wanted? You think because you got bashed, you had the right to sink down to Chris Hobbs' level? And now you've landed back on Planet Earth, _I'm_ still the bad guy?!"

"S-Sorry," Justin whispered, after a stinging silence. "I'm really sorry."

* * *

><p>When Brian needed to cool off, he usually did a variety of things: went to bed early, smoked or drank. Most often, it was a combination of the three, but tonight, he just ignored Justin's apology and disappeared into the bedroom area, ears still ringing. Intimate darkness mingled with gentle neon lights did little to cool his temper. The unlit cigarette was still wedged between his fingers- and when he realized this, he chucked it onto his bedside table impatiently. Even nicotine was not going to help now.<p>

By and by, against a backdrop of his own fizzling thoughts, his eyes flickered shut.

How long he slept for, he had no idea. There were no dreams, no nightmares- not even a repeat of his previous fears. He seemed to be entirely sunk in a vast nothingness, his senses numb and time completely non-existent.

And then he felt it.

Eyes fixed on his face as he slept. If he'd reached out with his hand, it would have brushed against the soft, pliant body next to his. Sorely tempted to ignore the unsettling sensation, he wondered when Justin had decided to sleep- probably after digesting the angry tirade… Well, let that be a lesson to him. Still, perhaps he should have acknowledged the stunned apology instead of walking off like that… then again, the heat of the moment was precisely the reason he had no time to think rationally. Truth be told, there was still some anger simmering away at the bottom of his stomach, even after his rant. And yet in the softness of his sheets, he'd found a rare calm not experienced since the whole unfortunate episode.

"B-Brian?"

He tried not to move as he felt his arms being rubbed gently- whether to rouse or comfort him was unclear. To pretend to be asleep- or not? For several minutes, he refused to move and the light contact ceased, making Brian's skin cold all of a sudden. But he could still feel those eyes fixed on his sleeping form… Eventually, he heard Justin take a deep breath. Brian braced himself, knowing a lengthy and delicately-worded speech was headed his way- at fucking two o'clock in the morning. Who apologized at this time?

"I know you're awake- and ignoring me. Which I guess I deserve. What I did was careless, stupid… prompted by an impulsive need to act based on my own personal circumstances…"

Brian tuned out again, the rest of the screed flowing in one ear and out the other. Life was too short for this kind of thing. And even though he had vented most of his innermost anger, he was not yet appeased.

"…But I just want you to know I would never deliberately try to hurt you, or make you sick with worry. I love you far too much for that. I hope you always-"

"Alright, I get it; you're sorry. You don't have to give a full Inauguration Speech about it." Brian whispered. With a decisive frown, he decided to "wake up".

"Well, what else do you want me to do? You're… still angry with me?"

"Take a wild guess."

"Anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"No. Got any more stupid questions?"

"I wish there was. I mean, I'd do anything to make you happy- although you insist on being hard to please…"

"Oh, I'm hard alright…"

Brian smiled as Justin flopped onto his back. Well, at least his sadistic sense of humour had returned- that was an encouraging sign. And those distinct murderous intentions had simmered down to a palatable temperature- the delicate bridge between volatility and tranquillity. It was, he decided, a good omen- and in time, he would return to being placid and insouciant.

His chrome clock ticked time away, each little strike a soothing melody.

"Brian?"

"Now what?"

"I almost did it, you know. I had him right there… and I… I chose not to. Or maybe I didn't have the guts…"

Justin didn't have to explain himself explicitly for Brian to immediately cotton onto what was being hinted. So that was what had happened- a gun confrontation- just as he had feared. And even if he reminded himself that the lad in question was lying right beside him, there was always that terrible alternative… Why on _earth_ had— Well, how many times had he asked himself that now. Still, after the fact, it was a little comforting to hear that Justin himself had shown some restraint.

"Nice to see you remembered that murder is a capital offence. Even murdering hetero's."

"It means a lot to hear you say that- because… Cody was livid. I felt like a coward. But now… I'm satisfied that I let it go, then."

Another silence followed, punctuated by the endless ticking of the clock and a stray breeze filtering in from the nearby window.

"I… I made him apologise."

"And did he?"

"Well, yes. Probably out of fear, but… he did it. Said sorry."

Brian turned to study his boyfriend, as though he was seeing someone new. A young man with more guts than he was given credit for, with more self-belief and conviction underneath the seemingly guileless surface. It would never have occurred to him to force such humility from a former attacker because deep down, he'd dealt with all the bullying and rejection either by revenge, or by shutting people out of his life forever. There was a reason he'd only told his father he was gay when the poor man was near death. There was a reason he never spoke about his mother unless it was absolutely unavoidable.

Even now, he couldn't picture himself demanding they apologise for raising him as an amoral, individualistic, nihilist who was socially maladjusted, who drowned their ineptitude to form meaningful relationships in wild promiscuity, who sought solace in drugs rather than confront his problems. But Justin could.

And for that, he had to admire him.

"You know… I may _seriously _have underestimated you, Sunshine."

"How's that?"

"Never mind." It would be quite some time- possibly never- before Brian opened up about his conflicted nature. He allowed the meaningful comment to hang in the air for a while whilst he stared up ahead of him into the nothingness.

"Do you still want to kill me, Brian?"

"Yes."

"I'm still sorry, though."

"So you keep telling me."

"I hope you believe me, even if you don't accept my apology. I mean, well- technically if you believe me, then you would accept it subconsciously, so I guess what I'm really trying to say is-"

"-Go to sleep, Justin."

He was already drifting off himself when he felt Justin tenderly kiss his lips and whisper: "I love how you care about me… and want to keep me safe. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't there."

Brian had plenty of sarcastic answers on the tip of his tongue to _that_ comment, mostly centred on staying alive in the first place. He didn't respond though- there was always tomorrow for more suitably critical words and shameless guilt-tripping. And from now on, he had to find it within him somewhere not to lose control of himself on a mere pretext- even one involving weapons. Tonight had been a valuable lesson, but also a stark reminder of how he had abandoned selfishness since the bashing. It was too soon to tell whether the change was for better or for worse- only time would tell. Until then, he was going to make sure that his so-called lover was sorry every single day for reducing him to misery all afternoon.

And yet just before gently tumbling back into the land of dreams, he reached out and stroked Justin's arm.

**FINIS**

* * *

><p><strong>I felt as though since Brian had tried and tried to dissuade Justin from falling under Cody's sway, there ought to have been a scene where he found out what Justin had done, and the consequences. This is my rendition of that. <strong>


End file.
